A Slight Misunderstanding
by Tiana Calthye
Summary: It all begins with a dartboard and a slight misunderstanding... now the Empire must suffer as an epidemic of various viruses, colds, and bacterial infections hit. Luke and Vader parody fic. AU.
1. And So It Begins

**A Slight Misunderstanding...**

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Star Wars. I owe inspiration for this pointlessshort fic to two friends.

* * *

"Why is my Master's face pinned to a dartboard?" Vader asked forebodingly as he entered into a room of many, many windows, for which the windows were there for no reason to have many, many windows, of course. He stared at the dartboard, which had a picture of Palpatine tacked up to it, and several darts stuck in the center of his face.

The Dark Lord of the Sith paced up to the full sized image, enlarged so that every wrinkle on the Emperor's face stuck out, making him look remarkably like a dried up mummified twerp. Possibly he was. The Dark Lord of the Sith-- namingly Vader-- shook his head, and pulled the darts out of his Master's face.

He glared viciously. "Someone will pay for this."

A few seconds later, a door conveniantly opened, and Luke Skywalker, new Jedi Knight ran in. "Daddy, you found my darts!" the immature and whiny Jedi exclaimed. "Were you going to throw them at Palpatine TOO?!" He looked like he might faint.

Vader hissed, breathing loudly. Before he could reply, Luke was back talking again.

"You really shouldn't've smoked as a kid, daddy. You're paying the price for it now. You're lucky you didn't get LUNG CANCER with that bad a cough!"

Vader continued to breath loudly, looking down at the darts in his hand, and wondering how much harm one could do to his annoyingly immature son's head. "Son..."

"Besides, Dad, you really shouldn't be threatening your MASTER, of all things, even if he is just a dried up mummifed twerp--"

The Sith Lord found himself wondering exactly how good his son was at mind reading, anyway.

"--but who'd want to be apprenticed to that mummy anyway? I mean, really, Dad, Obi-Wan looked a lot nicer, even if all the local girls did fawn over him, and swoon over his blue eyes-- until he got married by that tall orangish Jedi Master girl. What was her name, Daddy...?"

Before Vader could answer, his son was babbling again, ignoring him completely.

"--oh well, but Palpatine couldn't've been THAT ugly as a kid, or maybe he was, and maybe he was just cloned, and never was a kid, and he's actually an agent from another planet threatening us all to take over the galaxy. No, wait, he already did that..."

_He got his lungs from his mother... has he even taken one breath?_

"--but of course he's NOT going to take over the galaxy because WE'RE going to take over the galaxy, aren't we daddy, and rule as father and son and..."

"And whine the galaxy to death, my son?" Vader finally got a word in.

Luke made a pouty face, and stared up at the magnificant, nine foot tall Dark Lord of the Sith, who was standing over him breathing forebodingly. "I'm not whiny! I'm anything BUT whiny! I never whine-- how come you're always picking on me! It's not fair that you always pick on me and never give me a chance to speak or anything else to do because you don't care! I wanna go home, but you destroyed my home because you were lazy and a bad father and didn't care a thing about what was happening to ME and all you cared about was YOU, and you had to go and have kids and forget about us and not let us do anything or have pizza for supper or rule the galaxy because you're so MEEEEEEEEEEEEAN! And you don't care, and you won't let us be powerful or have ruling rings of power... how come you always pick on ME! IT'S NOT FAIR, YOU MEANY! I'M NOT WHINYYYYYYY..."

Vader hissed loudly, and hurled the dart at his son.

His son, seemingly more proficiant in the Force than he let on, moved his right hand slightly, and the dart reversed directions, spinning around to slam itself right into the middle of the picture of Palpatine still tacked up to the dartboard.

Luke dashed out of the room, giggling like a three year old child.

Vader turned around slowly, still holding two darts in his left hand--

--To find himself face to face with Palpatine, who was staring at the dart stuck to his head. He turned to face Vader menacingly.

"My Master, I can explain..."


	2. Hayfever

_A/N: And so it begins... enough wanted more, you get more! I may not update much, if you want immediately updated amusement, go read Smenzer's stories. He is my inspiration. Inspiration for this chapter to Jandalf. Thank you muchly to my 13 reviewers! I'm too tired to personally thank you all, sorry. Heh._

_**CHAPTER TWO:**_

A hiss cut through the air, sending a chill across the room as a crimson feathered dart cross the air and smacked into an image tacked across the room. For a moment, time seemed to hold still as the gold tip hung in the air, and then, crossing the bounderies of space and time, _smack_, hit the image in the nose. The dart stayed stuck there, quivering with the effort of whirling through molocules of a Sith Lord's frustration.

On the floor a well tattered Emperor lay torn to shreds, holes in as many ungracing locations as could possibly been created, a black mustache immaturely scribbled across the face. It was not, of course, the real Emperor - merely an image of him. The real Emperor was locked away in his chambers, and very much alive with no holes or Sharpie marker stains, though who knew after the flasco of the previous day?

Another dart sliced through the air to land upon the image's ear before falling backwards and hitting the floor.

Lord Vader, tall and foreshadowing, evil and angstified, dark and powerful Lord of the Sith snickered viciously, the sound an odd noise in the hard white purity of the room. Scattered around the image were several holes in the wall where the darts had missed, speckling the purity of the Imperial chambers with pepper.

And underneath the mask, he would've smiled wickedly, had it not gotten in the way of his face.

"You will pay for this, my son," Vader hissed, crossing the room to pull five darts out of the image, leaving several ungraceful holes in Luke Skywalker's face.

Vader had gotten off relatively easy from his Master's wrath, the mummified Emperor having set him to janitorial duty as punishment. An extreme embarrassment for the Dark Lord, having to clean all the refreshers on one level of the Star Destroyer - though Vader had taken extreme pleasure in choking the two troopers who had dared laugh. It was, he supposed, no worse than what he had undergone as a Padawan.

He was interrupted from his reverie by a sniffling voice. "Why are you throwing darts at me, daddy?"

Vader turned around to face his relatively short son, who had a tissue in hand. _Is he _crying! Vader thought, a moment's pity sweeping through him. _Is throwing darts at his picture that hard on his being?_

For a second, he pitied Luke, suddenly thinking of Padmé, and how beautiful she had looked...

Luke sneezed.

Vader drew back. "Do not do that around me! I have no desire to catch a cold."

Luke snickered slightly. "I have allergies, daddy!"

Vader attempted to raise his eyebrows, until he remembered he didn't have any. He settled for a stare down at Luke, which basically didn't change his appearance at all, beyond making him look scarier. "Oh?"

"Hayfever," Luke said cheerfully, handing Vader a bouquet of brilliant purple and red flowers labeled _rest in peace_, though the last word had been spelt _pieces_, Vader noted with a slightly annoyed hiss.

"What is this for?" he growled, placing the darts down on a nearby table and taking the bunch of flowers. A strange tingling sensation entered his nose, and he shook his head slightly to clear it.

"I heard about your punishment," Luke said cheerfully, "and I thought you might want them."

Vader shoved them back at Luke who immediately sneezed, sending mucus and spit splattering all over Vader's neatly polished suit. The Dark Lord drew back, clutching the flowers protectively over the splotch.

"Sorry 'bout that, dad," Luke said, grabbing the darts with the Force.

"I'm sure you are," Vader said dryly, staring at the flowers through his mechanical vision. They were quite pretty, he noted. _Padmé would've liked them_. He sniffled slightly. _Am I _tearing up!

Lukie grinned. "And I heard allergies ran in the family. I have to go now! Bye!" Luke whirled out the door, darts still in hand.

"Wait..." Vader was cut off as he sneezed within his helmet and the visor fogged up. He felt the first symptoms of hayfever begin to wash over him...

_My son, you are _so_ dead..._

**--Review me! --**


	3. The Epidemic Begins

**To my reviewers... this chapter isn't as funny, but tough luck. Wow, there's a lot of you...**

**Darth Warious: **Hey, I love Luke! Don't DYE him...

**jdp: **It seems you need a bit of education, though I'm glad you were amused... see, even the best Star Wars fan (in fact, the better of them) will make fun of it. It's like Canadians making fun of Canada. We take offence if someone else does, but we're allowed to do it. I make fun of Star Wars because I love it to pieces. And I'm quite aware of the Jedi Code. When I wrote this originally, I didn't intend on posting it. That's why it had the Obi-Wan girlfriend comment. It was borrowed from _Dark Rendevous_, and it was Anakin who commented on Obi-Wan needing some girlfriend. "Tall, dark haired, and desperate for anyone", I think was the quote. And, just so you know, it was after Episode 3 that he went into seclusion, unless you didn't mean to write Episode 1. And the Jedi Code doesn't really say anything against not getting married. It just says "There is no emotion, there is no chaos, there is no passion, there is no ignorance, there is no death". If one considers marriage as passionate or emotional, then obviously it's forbidden. However, Ki-Adi Mundi was married, so it's not completely against the Code. ANYWAY... glad you thought it was funny.

**Leigh the Wonderlord: **Okay. Glad you liked it.

**BEACHBLOND: **It wasn't suppose to be realistic. It was suppose to be funny (as you observed).

**sj17: **Ah, pity Vader indeed... his fate will be far worse than refreshers yet!

**Jandalf: **Okay, then you can hug him. ;-) I only hug him in Anakin-form. And I'd prefer Jether or Xendor, ya know...

**tonks: **Heh. I wrote more.

**DarthShanni: **More! Mindtricks don't work on me, if that was your intent with the brackets...

**Riverfox237: **Mmm... I'm glad you liked it. And here's more! I'll try to keep it hystarical, though this chapter isn't so funny. It's more... foreboding.

**vaders apprentice darth squishy: **Wow, what a name you wear... and there's more. There's always more in my mind, it's just finding time to write it. Heh.

_**CHAPTER 3:**_

"_AH... AHHHH... koo-pahkakakakaka...hack hack cough... ahhh... CHOOO!" _Being the best way to describe the present sounds emitting from Darth Vader's helmet at the moment is not through text, go and inhale some pepper and start coughing and sneezing into a plastic cup while attempting to imitate Vader's breathing sounds to see how he really sounded like. I would not recommend you actually trying this unless you really don't know a thing about logic, of course.

"ACHOOO!"

The above output came from Lord Vader's mouthpiece on his mask, only a lot larger (try size twenty-eight Verdana fontface, and bolded, underlined, italicized, and possibly slightly yellow) and more sneeze-like. Unfortunately for the dramatic, evil, and terrifying Lord of the Sith, he had not only received hay fever from the flowers... he had also caught the flu from being in young Skywalker's presence.

"_Cooohhh-hisss-hahahahahahkkkakkakakakkakakaka... CHOO!"_ Pity the Sith Lord with hay fever. And observe as his air vents slowly plug up with sticky yellow mucus that insists on getting plugged into the holes.

Reaching up with the Force, he proceeded to fling the phlegm from his helmet's airways, hitting a nearby stormtrooper in the back of the helmet. Greenish boogers slid down the once white and spotless armor, slime dripping into one of those convenient cracks which your hand cannot reach, but things can get into and tickle and torment you.

The stormtrooper whirled around...

The Imperial March stirred.

The stormtrooper paled. Of course, it was impossible to tell underneath the helmet and armor that this was occurring. After all, he was wearing white (nearly, anyway) armor that made him pale enough as it was.

Vader stared down at the stormtrooper.

"Aaahhh... ahhh... CHOO!"

The sudden sneeze proceeded to destroy all semblance of evil and forebodingness that the Sith Lord held, though the trooper shirked backwards a bit, offering a Kleenex with one hand. Vader took it, stared at it through his artificial vision, using it to clean a bit of the mucus from his helmet. _I will have to go into my chambers,_ he determined, _to clean all this glunk from my helmet's interior and my face before it dries._

He handed the used Kleenex back to the trooper who grimaced. Vader caught this through the Force, but made no move to choke the trooper. Oh no. Instead he reached out with the Force into a small level and shifted some of his cold bacteria towards the trooper's helmet and convinced them that the stormtrooper would make a nice home for a while.

He grinned slightly underneath the helmet, though the stretch made his burnt face hurt, and walked away.

The stormtrooper was seemingly relieved, walking off to dispose of the Kleenex. Dropping it into a nearby garbage chute, he sneezed.

_Stang_, he thought.

Returning to the stormtrooper quarters when his shift was over, the trooper took his helmet off, and sneezed some more, immediately heading over towards a nearby Kleenex box. It was being held by a short kid with flaxen hair.

"Aren't you a little short to be a stormtrooper?" the stormtrooper tried to ask, however, it was cut off by a series of wild sneezes. He was very relieved that he had taken his helmet off by that point.

The kid offered him several Kleenexes, and the stormtrooper—TK 152, though his friends called him Ted—took it gratefully, sneezing not so gratefully into the paper.

"Got a cold?" the kid asked sympathetically, sniffling slightly.

TK 152 nodded, sneezing again, and sitting down, looking pathetically pale.

"Gr... I mean, that's too bad."

TK 152 gave him a suspicious glance.

"I had a cold myself," offered the flaxen haired kid.

"Ah... ATCHOO!" The stormtrooper rubbed his nose ruefully, becoming aware that within a few hours of this his nose would begin to flake off and turn slightly red. "T...too... sniffle... bad."

"Yeah, it was." The kid stood up. "I'll go get some cold medication for you." He raised his one hand slightly, waving it just a bit. "Remember to come into contact with as many other stormtroopers as possible. You want them to gain an immunity to your cold."

TK 152 nodded in understanding. It seemed perfectly logical to him... after all, if everyone became immune to the cold, then, after all, no one could get it again. He gazed thoughtfully at the flowers that rested on a nearby silver desktop. They were pretty, he thought to himself. Just what was needed to brighten up a cheerless Empire. And a sick stormtrooper's day.

Remembering the kid's orders, he stood up and headed into the main room.

"Ah... ahh... CHOO!"

The stormtroopers in the room looked up simultaneously. "Yo, Ted, what's happening?"

"I've... ACHOO!... got a cold," TK 152 said mournfully. He sat down beside ST 763 who moved slightly away from him. As ST 763 wasn't wearing a helmet either, he felt a slight feeling of trepidation entering his bones.

TK 152 sneezed again.

ST 763 stood up. "That's too bad, brother," he noted. "Get well soon. I'm on duty." He grabbed his helmet and pulled it on just as TK 152 sneezed again, dabbing at his slightly teary eyes with a tissue.

"All... right... ATCHOO!"

ST 763 headed out towards the door. For some odd reason, he had a bad feeling about this. Or perhaps it was just the slight crawling sensation in the back of his throat. The tickly one. That felt sort of like he had inhaled a slimy feather...

Luke Skywalker returned a few minutes later with some cough syrup for the poor stormtrooper, but TK 152 was fast asleep on the couch, armor askew on the nearby chair. Luke shrugged, leaving the syrup on the table. As he did, he glanced at his hand. _Gee, a red spot. That's odd..._

He scratched at it mindlessly as he left the room.


	4. Chicken Pox

_**CHAPTER FOUR:**_

The Emperor was covered in little pink dots. It might be a notable remark at the moment that it is not everyday that you will see the Emperor surrounded by people dabbing chamomile lotion on his scars. So I recommend you take advantage of this situation and get a camera. It's _definitely_ a Kodak moment. And shut up, I know you can't really take pictures of text. But you can try to draw it, right?

Unfortunately, it's not as satisfying of a mental image as the image of Jabba the Hutt with chicken pox, because the Emperor, being xenophobic, lacks cute little Twi'lek girls in metal bikinis to proceed to cover him in pink stinky glop which _supposedly_ helps remove the itch. I cannot speak in favor of this as my only relief from the pox was showering a ridiculous amount of times a day. I also cannot speak in favor of the idea of wearing a metal bikini. Particularly on Hoth. That would be utmost torture. One wonders what would happen if Jabba the Hutt was stranded on Hoth...

He (the Emperor, not Jabba the Hutt, as the latter was busy being interwoven into a situation that could potentially get him stranded on Hoth, or, at the very least, Manitoba) scowled at his hand, covered in itchy spots. The Emperor looked mummified enough as it was, being coated in blots of chicken poxes wasn't exactly a great asset to his appearance. In fact, it just made him look like a mummified freak covered in little red dots.

Wait a second.

I'm considering this.

Ignore my previous comment. This was an aid to the Emperor's looks. At least not all of his skin was a horrible paisley tone any longer.

One might consider the situation. The leader of the Galactic Empire, down with the chicken pox? Well, up, and scratching, really. Would the Imperial domination crumble into nothingness as the universe was plummeted into agony as their ultimate leader suffered from itchy torment? Would he suffer a slow and painful death as his fingernails slowly dug into his skin in an attempt to tear the tormenting patches of skin from his body? Would he peel his own self into strips in the hopes to end the torment! Would he fall to the darkside and attempt to murder each little bacteria or virus (or whatever causes the chicken pox) with Force lightning!

You know what? I don't know.

I do know for certain though that Lord Vader was far worse off. At least Palpy has fingernails and skin. Unfortunately for Darth Vader, being more machine than human, he was suffering grave torment indeed.

Did Darth Vader get the chicken pox, you ask? Alongside of the nasty cold that permitted phlegm to drool from the slats in his helmet in disgusting slimy rivets, was he also suffering a dreadfully itchy and agonizing illness?

Of course not. On Tatooine, many, many years ago, Anakin Skywalker had been forced to undergo his shots and had received the vaccine for the chicken pox. His mother had been smart, tying the child down as Watto sat on his feet and a medical droid administered all of young Skywalker's shots. For this reason as a child Anakin never found himself on the receiving end of a cold.

However, masks tend to collect bacteria and other evil strains of this universe. As incredible as Darth Vader was, even the great Dark Lord of the Sith could not stand against the plummeting downpour of a ravage of billions and billions of tiny bacteria and viruses weaving up his scorched nostrils. Even the Darkside was no match for the onslaught that had taken him and forced him to suffer the vilest of vile! The flu!

And yet... somehow, in the midst of his agony, his attempts to keep his helmet from clogging up and causing Lord Vader to die of a very ironic death— asphyxiation within his own helmet... it had grown worse. How, Vader wondered, was it _possible_ to become this much harder on his already tormented system, as he had to deal with the flu, the sniffles, the excess of mucus clogging his nasal systems, the horrid stench of his own breath fogging up his helmet, and at the same time keep his chicken pox stricken Emperor from killing _too_ many stormtroopers. It took some time to grow and train them up, after all, even if it seemed as if stormies grew on trees.

In fact, the Emperor had taken great pleasure in printing out pictures of Jedi Masters, drawing billions of little red dots over their faces, and then throwing darts at them.

_How_ could it _possibly_ be worse!

And, for the one thousand one hundred and thirty-eighth time, Luke Skywalker yanked on his father's sleeve. "But _daddddyyyyyy_! The Emperor wants my darts! He's impaling Yoda's head! Can't I go and heeeeeeeeeeeeelp!"

"No." Darth Vader would've breathed menacingly if this wasn't at the moment threatening to his health. However, breathing menacingly now only proceeded to make it impossible for him to comfortably keep breathing, his helmet clogged with a layer of silt, mucus, and bacteria of various shapes and sizes, every one of them taunting them with their evil and tormenting little grins...

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Why did you say so?"

"Because I am perfectly able of articulating Basic speech. Because you spread an epidemic throughout my Emperor's Death Star. For the last time, my son, where is the Rebel base?"

Luke looked around distractedly. "If I tell you can I have one of the stormtrooper outfits?"

Vader sighed. Or nearly sighed, until he thought better of it and merely exhaled carefully. "Anything."

The young Jedi Knight let his eyes wander the throne room, the Emperor bouncing about like a chicken and attempting to scratch at his pox marks and all the while attempting to skewer a printout of Yoda with a set of darts shaped like Star Destroyers. He scratched mindlessly at his hand, several red marks marring his rough skin, tanned by hard work under the suns of Tatooine before he had left the old rock.

The Sith Lord cast his son a glance. The son in mention had some reddish patches on his face as well.

"She's _hot_." Luke sighed.

Darth Vader looked in the direction that his now distracted son was staring in. His eyes would've widdened had it helped anything. Unfortunately, they were hidden underneath his helmet. "Uh... Luke..."

"She _is_."

Darth Vader though wistfully of Padmé for a moment. "Luke. No. Just... no."

"Why not?"

Vader wondered if this wasn't one of his son's favorite lines.

"You're just saying this because you're mad at me for the dartboard incident still and then Palpatine told you you had to babysit me."

_Well... yes._ "Luke, if you must ogle girls, we will find you a safer girl to ogle." The Sith proceeded to steer Luke towards a nearby holonet access computer and showed him how to use an image search engine and found him a couple of singles webpages. Luke cast a rueful glance back at the redhaired woman, though. Pictures just weren't the same.

"Whoa!"

Vader's eyes _did_ widen this time, and he hastily moved to hit the x on the window before Luke could get too much of an eyeful. Though this was prevented, he was still cast an itchy and icy scowl from his Emperor. Vader wondered if Palpatine had ever seen that much of a woman exposed before.

And decided against letting his thoughts carry on that pattern.

"I feel cold," Luke complained.

"Hm."

Luke scratched a bit more vigorously at his hand. "I'm going down to medical, dad."

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." The Jedi Knight vanished from the throne room and left Vader to contemplate the computer.


	5. Computers: The Bane of Human Kind

**AN: **This isn't as funny or short as some of my other chapters, but it was momentary inspiration, and I couldn't resist writing it. It'll be more funny if you're a girl who's had mega-emotional PMS...

**CHAPTER FIVE!**

Darth Vader had never had to contemplate the existence of internet porn before. In fact, the villainous theory had never occurred to him. Where was the purpose in staring at images of naked, or near naked people? It wasn't as satisfying as the good ol' idea of taking his lightsaber and a few training droids and blowing up large objects.

It wasn't as satisfying as the thought of Padmé.

He had never had to set up a censor system on the computer before, either. But there was no way he was letting his troops see any of _these _pictures. No way. They were simply too horrifying for words. If they wanted an eyeful, they could go get laid themselves if they wanted to. No, this was simply beyond words. Indescribable. Horrifying!

As if that point hadn't already been made by his series of thoughts.

Upon googling (a Terran term, he had heard) ways to censor all webpages with pictures of naked people, though, he came upon great frustration. The darkest thing since the darkside! False advertising!

Were none of these preventive programs _freeware_!

And, Vader thought to himself, what _was_ birth control, anyway? Why was his search for preventive devices coming up with water balloons and white pills? And why were his stormtroopers snickering madly from in behind him?

He attempted to breathe out threateningly, and ran into a slight snag, this being the simply undeniable fact that his helmet was, once again, clogged with mucus. Or was that his bronchial tubes? Vader was greatly uncertain.

Why was his Master, of all people, giggling madly?

Vader sighed. Was all of humanity (and perhaps not humanity) out to get him? Was he destined to be the uttermost target of parody? Was there no chance for the great and incredible Sith Lord to escape continual torment as the fulcrum of mockery?

Does this question require an answer?

Of course not! It's just too fun!

Not too much later, Darth Vader reached out with the Force, tweaked just the tiniest hint of the interal wiring on the computer, and...

_**Ffzzttiiittttt...BOOM!**_

That computer would never again show its naked faces to the unsuspecting world at large! Vader would've grinned menacingly, but he found himself surrendering to another coughing fit, falling over just as the computer imploded into a tiny internet fireball.

_At this rate,_ he thought, although his thought patterns were noticably more cut off than they could've been, _I shall become like Grievous, may he rest in pieces._

_Cough_, thought Vader.

He inhaled sharply, gratified by the fact that tiny pieces of mucus didn't slowly jump from his mask to his burnt out lungs this time. There were a few small blessings in life, at the very least. One of them was an ability to breathe. Life... hated him. He hated this mask.

In fact, Vader hated everything. He hated so much, he wanted to fall apart and cry. Even his own son abandoned him in his moments of need! Covered in red blotches, he had scurried off to the medical ward in the hopes to not have to suffer his monster-like father's presence any longer, and to not have to be encumbered by the coughing and hacking brought on by a terrible common cold.

And hayfever...

It was all Luke's fault! Why could he never be there for his father!

Vader sniffled, but didn't cry, because his tear glands had been scorched by the volcano his own Master had thrown him into. His Master! Obi-Wan had been like a father to him! He had _loved_ that Jedi Master like a father, trusted him with his life.

But Obi-Wan had always held him back. Only Padmé had ever cared, and he had killed her! He, Anakin Skywalker, the one who professed to love her most. And then Palpatine, nothing more than a lying schemer who carried around spares just in case. Surely he was using this bout of hay fever as an excuse to murder Lord Vader, to knock off the great Sith Lord, and replace him with his younger son.

It had all been a sham! No one cared! They just wanted to use him to make an even better Sith, an even more powerful child! Palpatine probably didn't even have chicken pox. It was probably just pink paint, dotted in raised blots over his pale mummified skin. Luke had probably just eaten something that had given him a rash! The stormtroopers were all horrible! They hated him!

Vader wanted his mommy. She had loved him. But the Sandpeople had murdered her without a care to his feelings or hurts. Obi-Wan had held him back. No one loved him! They all hated him, of course. Why wouldn't they? He was nothing more than a Force-choking monster, made solely for the purpose of mass murder, dislike, and control.

He was a puppet! Palpatine's puppet!

And everyone hated him, even his son...

_I'll bet even Padmé lied. She was in league with Obi-Wan in order to get herself pregnant and have babies that'd become powerful. And Obi-Wan's probably not dead. I'll show them! I'll show them all!_

_...Somehow..._

_No one cares... everyone hates me!_

The great and might Sith Lord very swiftly subsumed to despression, burried his helmeted head in his hands, and attempted to cry.

This failed, for his lack of tear glands, but the action was still there. Feel for the poor, unloved Darth Vader.

(and review to cheer him up!)


End file.
